


A Lot to Learn

by flammable_grimm_pitch



Series: A Lot to Learn [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Exotic Dance, F/M, Gay Bar, Grad Student Remus, Implied Sexual Content, Jewish Lupin family, Jewish Remus Lupin, Judaism, Law school student Sirius, M/M, Multi, Pole Dancing, Rabbi Lyall Lupin, Shabbat | Sabbath | Sabt, pole fitness, עברית | Hebrew
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:55:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27953477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flammable_grimm_pitch/pseuds/flammable_grimm_pitch
Summary: Remus is a grad student, Sirius is a law student. Raised in two very different worlds, and living complex adult lives, they have a lot to learn from each other.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lyall Lupin & Remus Lupin, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: A Lot to Learn [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2047142
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First things first: I'm not Jewish, nor was I raised in a Jewish family. I'm simply a person who wants to see diverse representation in fic, and who has a great appreciation for the traditions and beliefs of the Jewish faith. Please see the chapter entitled "Bibliography" for a full list of sources and videos I consulted in creating this fic.
> 
> Also: I wrote a short "how they met" chapter that you may want to read before starting this. It's listed as the first work in this series, and you can access it using the arrows in the tags section!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are discrepancies you'd like to see amended, hit me up in the comments or on Tumblr at flammable-grimm-pitch so I can make corrections. Enjoy!

The first time Sirius visits Remus’ flat, they fall through the door together gracelessly and without ceremony, heading straight for the bedroom. The lights are all off, but Remus tugs Sirius along by the loops of his belt, navigating past the small dining table and down the hall by memory. They leave a trail of clothes in their wake, ties and shirts and shoes. In the morning, Sirius leaves when the sun is barely even up, as he’s due in class for 08:00 sharp, and he hasn’t brought along a change of clothes. He notes a pair of black wedge heels in the coat cupboard by the front door, but his curiosity isn’t strong enough for him to remember them past the chilly walk to the tube station.

* * * * *

The next time he visits, he arrives with takeaway and a bottle of sweet wine, stands expectantly outside the door as he waits for Remus to answer it. His eye catches on the grey ceramic mezuzah hung on the right side of the doorframe, and he tucks the bottle beneath his arm so that he might reach up and brush his fingers over the letter (ש) engraved into it and painted gold. He jerks his hand away as the door opens, but Remus catches him in the act, gives him a timid smile.

They’ve not really met up for anything other than study dates between classes or a quick fuck, so this evening is a test of sorts — a real date. Remus has set the table with a pair of plates and cutlery, and at the centre is a beautiful arrangement of mismatched candlesticks (lit for ambiance), a cracked-open pomegranate, and some decorative moss, all arranged on a circular wooden board. When Sirius leans in to investigate further, he finds that the pomegranate isn’t even real — it’s been carefully crafted from clay, and perhaps some sort of epoxy resin.

“I’ve never seen something like this,” he says, taking a seat across from Remus. “Where did you get it?”

“It was a housewarming gift from Lily,” Remus replies, opening the styrofoam containers filled with steaming rice and butter chicken so they can dish up. “Pomegranates are a popular image in Jewish art, and Lily knows how much I love them. She thought I would be more likely to decorate the place a bit if she helped out a bit, and I suppose she was right.” He gestures towards the far wall, where a framed graffiti art print hangs. “Bought that in Tel Aviv when Da and I visited last year.”

They chat about the week’s events over food and wine, discussing the case brief Sirius was brutally questioned on in front of all his classmates, and Remus’ meeting with his dissertation supervisor. Conversation devolves into more personal subjects, and the pair partake in a careful dance around more difficult topics — parents and family, mostly.

“I’m estranged from my birth parents for a whole host of reasons,” Sirius explains through a mouthful of naan, “But James’ mum and dad have treated me as their own since I was sixteen. Even earlier than that, really. Set up a room for me in their house, bought me gifts at Christmas, the works. Lovely couple, Monty and Effie Potter are.”

“I’ve had the pleasure of meeting them once or twice,” Remus replies, “and they spoke very highly of both you and James.” The compliment sends a rush of fondness through Sirius. It shouldn’t be a surprise anymore to hear that his adoptive parents really do love him, but it always is. He makes a mental note to thank them for putting in a good word for him, and wonders if they do so with all the cute men they meet.

When the subject of work comes up, Sirius begrudgingly admits that he’s working in finance for Monty Potter’s company, but just as a way of paying the bills. He doesn’t mention the nest egg sitting in his bank account that was bequeathed to him by his late Uncle Alphard. Remus is rather cryptic about how he covers his expenses, explaining only that _most_ of his education is covered by a grant from the UCL Institute of Jewish Studies.

Remus insists on washing up because Sirius paid for dinner, which gives his guest the opportunity to snoop around the flat. It’s furnished simply and practically, as Sirius expected of a man like Remus, but he’s pleased to find bits of personality and warmth spread throughout the place. Remus' favourite cardigan, the one with the elbow patches, has been abandoned over the arm of a plush wingback chair. A seven-foot bookshelf is organized alphabetically and by subject, with sections on queer literature and travel and religion, all subjects Sirius could listen to Remus discuss for hours on end.

After the dishes are done, they go out to a nearby cafe for coffee and a slice of rich chocolate cake, of which Remus eats most. They hold hands on the way back to the flat, where they exchange a series of sweet kisses in the doorway before reluctantly parting ways, as both have things to do early the next morning. They promise to do this again soon, perhaps at Sirius’ flat next, but they skip over an important step that both Lily and James have been encouraging their friends to take: defining whatever it is that’s going on between them.

They've been sleeping together for the better part of three months by now, meeting up at least twice a week for that purpose. But Sirius doesn’t want to push to label things for fear of spooking Remus, and Remus’ tendency towards self-loathing prevents him from being able to imagine that a man as lovely as Sirius could possibly want more than what he’s agreed to already.

* * * * *

When Sirius tags along on a Saturday night hen do for a pair of old schoolmates about a month (and six dinner dates) later, he finds himself in a crowded queer nightclub. Marlene and Dorcas, the brides-to-be, ply him with strong, fruity drinks and beg him to join them on the dance floor. The bass-heavy music rumbles through him, makes his stomach feel a bit swirly after a couple hours of dancing amongst other sweaty people, so he excuses himself to lounge on a stool at the bar.

The DJ announces a series of stage entertainers for the night — a dancer by the name of Moony, and the drag queen that Marlene and Dorcas were keen on seeing perform. Sirius calls down the bar for a large glass of ice water, and just as it’s delivered to him, the bright club lights go dim, and the music fades to silence. A few shouts from the crowd signal that the show is about to begin.

When the lights come on again, a tall man stands at centre-stage, his face turned downward and hidden by his hood. Against the darkness of the back curtain, the bare skin of his legs stand out. He’s wearing a fitted grey jacket and a pair of tiny silver shorts, which cling to his sculpted thighs and arse like they belong there. He sways gracefully back and forth to a dark, whimsical tune, waving his hands over the floor like he’s performing a spell. Sirius doesn’t know what the fuck is happening, but he’s mesmerized by it.

The man drops to the floor and begins to crawl on his hands and knees towards the pole to stage left, at which point his act becomes more obvious. Sirius has never seen a man pole-dance before, only women in heels and little else, and he spent the entire performance averting his eyes out of embarrassment. Was that what this was going to be like?

The man reaches out and grasps the very base of the pole, rolls across the floor and lithely pulls himself to his feet. Once he’s at his full height, he places both hands on the pole above his head and raises himself up off the floor into a spin. When his legs rise in a V above his head, Sirius’ jaw drops. The man uses his momentum to continue his spin, drops down and wraps his ankle around the metal pole, and extends an arm and a leg so that only his hand supports the entirety of his body weight.

 _Holy fuck,_ Sirius thinks to himself, _that looks really bloody difficult. How is he doing it?_

The stage light shines on the man’s legs, making visible a wide silver scar that wraps around his thigh. Sirius’ brow furrows; he’s seen a scar like that somewhere, but can’t place it just now. The gravity-defying routine continues, and Sirius continues to ignore his water in favour of gaping at the man onstage.

A moment later, the dancer comes off the pole and moves back to the centre of the stage, where he pauses to push his hood down and throw a glance out into the audience. His hand catches in his tawny curls, and his amber eyes rake across the crowd, pausing on Sirius at the bar. Sirius breath catches in his throat, not because he’s being ogled by a stranger, but because he’s looking at Remus — not quiet, snarky Remus, who studies Hebrew poetry and likes a night in better than anything else, but a Remus he doesn’t know.

Remus doesn’t falter, doesn’t compromise his act by standing and staring at Sirius in shock. Instead, he does a cartwheel across the stage and hoists himself back up onto the pole, wowing the audience with a series of complicated spins and holds that require enormous upper body strength. At one point, he hooks his knee around the pole and uses his other foot for balance as he strips off his jacket to reveal his toned chest.

If Sirius had any doubt about this man being Remus Lupin before, instead of a secret twin or perhaps a doppelgänger, he can have none now, for tattooed on his chest are the familiar sloping lines of the Hebrew word _tiqvah._ As they lay in bed one night a few weeks back, Remus had explained that it was a translation of the word ‘hope’, which had been his mother’s name. Though Jewish law frowned upon tattoos, Remus had wanted to keep her memory close after her death, and elected to have her name tattooed over his heart.

Sirius keeps his eyes locked on Remus for the remainder of the performance, and only once the music has stopped and the man has collected the banknotes members of the audience have pelted the stage with does he look away.

“Excuse me, but is there any way to the backstage area from here?” Sirius inquires of the bartender. “My, er, boyfriend just performed, and I was hoping to see him after the show.” The woman eyes him suspiciously for a moment, but judging his story to be genuine, gives him directions. He downs his water, threads through the crowd so as to give his best wishes to Marlene and Dorcas, and makes for the dressing rooms.

A bulky security guard stands watch at the door, and because his name isn’t on the list of the night’s approved personnel, Sirius is forced to stand there while the man radios the backstage manager for permission. They spend five long, awkward minutes in silence as they wait for a response, which Sirius chooses to pass by smoking. It’s not really permitted in the club, but the bouncer allows it so long as he can bum a fag off Sirius.

When the backstage access door opens, both men scramble to dispose of their cigarettes as quickly as possible. Remus steps out into the corridor in trackie bottoms and a hoodie, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

“S-Sirius, what—” he hisses, his eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here?”

“Hen do,” Sirius says, tilting his head towards the main part of the club. The DJ has resumed playing dance music, and the pulsing of the bass through the subwoofers shakes the building’s walls. “Some old school mates are tying the knot next week, and they invited me along.”

Remus looks to the security guard, who is doing his best to appear occupied by grinding his cigarette butt into the cement floor with the toe of his shoe. To discourage any further eavesdropping, Remus takes Sirius by the arm and tugs him towards the building’s exit.

“Did you walk here, or…?” Remus wonders.

“I’ll call us a cab,” Sirius answers, pulling his mobile from the pocket of his tight leather trousers. Remus’ hand is firm on his arm, but whether that is out of anger or fear or something else, Sirius isn’t sure. “Parking’s shit around here, and I sort of expected I’d be a bit more drunk by the end of the night than I am now.”

The pair wait together between the two sets of glass doors at the front of the club, tucked into a corner away from the constant flux of traffic as people step in or out to smoke. Remus doesn’t bring up his performance, but neither does Sirius feel comfortable being the first to broach the subject. When the cab arrives, Remus gives the driver his address, and when he doesn’t look to Sirius to explain that they’re going separate ways, the latter keeps quiet.

Sirius shoves a handful of bills at the driver before Remus has the chance, and the pair spill out onto the sidewalk. When Remus doesn’t immediately pull out his keys to open the front door, Sirius raises a curious eyebrow.

“Are you going to yell at me?” Remus asks defensively. “Because if you are, I’d rather it happen out here than have someone complain to my landlord that I’m keeping everyone up by having a domestic at midnight.”

“Why would I yell at you?”

“Because I dance onstage in tiny shorts for money,” Remus snaps, as if this should be obvious. “Because I didn’t tell you I work in clubs.”

“That’s hardly my business,” Sirius replies with a shrug. “You were vague about what you do for work, yes, but I figured you’d tell me if and when you were ready. I’m sorry to have unknowingly pushed you into it, but I'm also glad I got to see you onstage, because you were fucking amazing.”

“I—I wanted to tell you,” Remus admits sheepishly, tucking his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. “Figured I’d have to if we…well, if we were, ah…”

“If we were to start seeing each other more seriously,” Sirius offers. “Is that what you want?”

“To date you? Of course it is,” Remus snorts. “How could I not want that?”

“Well, I’m a bit insufferable at times, and I’ve never really been the sort that blokes think to bring round to meet mum,” Sirius says, listing things off on his fingers.

“Good thing I haven’t got one of those, then,” Remus replies with a slight smile. “But a dad, I could arrange.”

* * * * *

When Sirius arrives for Friday dinner with the Lupins, he knocks twice and walks into the flat, not bothering to wait for someone to answer the door. No one would have heard him anyway; there’s a klezmer record playing loudly from the sitting room, where Remus and his father are having a boisterous discussion in Hebrew.

“Sirius!” Remus interrupts himself at the sight of his boyfriend standing at the door. “Come in, come in.” His father chastises him when he reaches over to turn the music down, but Remus ignores the rebuke.

 _“Shabbat Shalom,”_ Sirius greets him, kissing both of Remus’ smooth cheeks before pulling him in for a quick hug. They had discussed earlier in the week how they might behave around Remus’ father, and decided that they would not deny their relationship if asked, but would also not go out of their way to make it known.

“Done your research, have you?” Remus chuckles and holds Sirius at arms’ length for a moment, just to get a good look at him. “ _Shabbat Shalom_ to you as well.” Remus releases Sirius and turns to his father so that he can make introductions. “Da, this is Sirius Black, a friend of mine from school. He’s best mates with James Potter, who’s Lily Evans’ fiancé. Sirius, this is my father, Lyall Lupin.”

Lyall isn't quite what Sirius expects of him, perhaps because the only fathers he's spent much time around are his and James'. Rabbi Lupin is around the same height as Remus but has broader shoulders, and his curly hair and well-trimmed beard are more grey than brown, not uncommon for a man in his mid-fifties. He wears simple black trousers and a white collared shirt, but what draws Sirius' attention is the fact that there are several white tassels — four of them, to be exact — hanging out over his belt. Remus doesn't have them, so he wonders if perhaps this is something only rabbis wear.

"A pleasure to meet you, Rabbi Lupin," Sirius says in earnest. There is no ' _Please, call me Lyall'_ moment, but that doesn't bother Sirius terribly.

As the two men exchange handshakes and greetings, Sirius can’t help but feel that Lyall is sizing him up, scrutinizing him in a way that parents typically reserved for their child’s romantic partner. _Are we that obvious?_ he wonders to himself. When Remus turns around to check on something in the kitchen, Sirius notices that he’s got a burgundy _kippah_ embroidered with flowers and leaves pinned atop his head. Lyall wears one as well, but his is made of a more plain black fabric.

“Oh, should I have…” Sirius begins, pointing to the crown of his head.

“No need,” Lyall assures him amiably. “If you were to attend a service at a synagogue, it would be considered polite, but _kippot_ aren’t a requirement at _Shabbat_ for non-Jews by any means.” He casts a glance over his shoulder and raises his voice. “I know Remus is only wearing one tonight to please his father,” he teases, earning an eye roll from his son.

Remus’ mobile goes off just then, announcing that in about twenty minutes, the sun will set. Sirius follows the father and son duo to the table, where there are a number of items Sirius recognizes from his quick online research session — cloth-covered bread, and a matching set of ceramic cups. A set of four matching candlestick holders sits on the table, each with a short, white candle set in its centre.

“This is Sirius’ first _erev Shabbat,_ Da, so I’m going to explain things as we go,” Remus informs his father. Lyall nods, encouraging him to continue. “Shabbat begins with the lighting of candles. Most families light two, others will do more, and typically women and girls do the lighting.” He picks up the box of matches, which have extra-long stems for ease of lighting. “Mam used to do three candles, one each for her, Da and I. Tonight we’ll do the same — one each for Da and I, one in Mam’s memory, and one for you, Sirius, because you’re our guest.”

Remus strikes the match against the side of the box and carefully sets the flame to the fresh wick of each candle. Without extinguishing the match, he sets it down on the metal plate atop which the candles are set, allowing the flame to flicker out on its own. He waves his hands over the candles three times before covering his eyes and saying a short blessing in Hebrew.

“Once _Shabbat_ begins, we cannot light a flame or put one out,” Lyall says as he reaches for the bottle of wine in the centre of the table. Remus sets a cup and plate made from the same coloured ceramic as the candlesticks in front of his father. “Next, we make _kiddush,_ to set this time apart from the rest of the week as special and holy.” Lyall opens the wine and pours to just below the brim of the cup so it won’t spill over when he lifts it. He holds it in the palm of his right hand and chants a much longer passage from memory in his low, clear voice. Lyall’s pitch rises and falls at different points, and Sirius wonders how one learns to do this thing that is not quite singing, but certainly not just speaking.

The wine is then carefully poured into three smaller matching cups. When Remus and Lyall raise their cups, Sirius does as well, and he joins in a bit late when both declare, _"L’chaim!”_

The evening continues with blessings and rituals, which the Lupins take turn explaining, all of which Sirius feels both separate from, yet oddly welcome to. There is hand washing and eating of braided _challah,_ and both Remus and Lyall have chosen a song to sing. The hearty chicken soup that Remus prepared for the meal sits atop the stove in a covered clay pot that keeps it warm until they're ready for it.

It’s a dinner unlike any Sirius has ever attended — certainly nothing like the stuffy and silent formal affairs that plagued his childhood — and before it’s even over, he knows he wants to join the Lupins for another.

* * * * *

"What did you think of tonight?" Remus murmurs into Sirius' hair, pressing a kiss to the side of his head as he snuggles up against him. Sirius rests his cheek against Remus' warm chest and throws an arm over his waist, tangles their bare legs together.

"Never seen anything like it," Sirius whispers back, glancing up into Remus' honey-brown eyes. "It was really beautiful. I can see why it's so special to you."

"It's a bit different when Da's not around," Remus admits, "But I still try to do something to mark the day. Sometimes I join Lily and James at the Evans' place for Friday dinner, or for lunch on Saturday. They always have room at their table, and _Shabbat_ isn't meant to be spent alone."

"Where does your dad go if he's not with you?"

"Oh, he's got standing invitations at the table of every family at his synagogue," Remus chuckles. "And sometimes, they'll host a large _Shabbat_ meal at the synagogue so everyone can gather together."

Sirius makes a sound to indicate he's listening, but goes quiet for a while -- long enough that Remus thinks he must have nodded off. It's well past midnight, and after Lyall had excused himself for the night (and Sirius pretended to do the same, but snuck back up to the flat afterwards), Remus had introduced Sirius to the age-old tradition of Friday night love-making.

"He's not quite what I expected him to be," Sirius says slowly. "Your father, I mean."

"How so?"

"He's not as, erm...strict, I suppose?" Sirius pulls a face, because what he's said is not quite what he means. "From how you described him, I thought he'd be more severe. Less kind to me because I'm your... _you know_."

"Yes, I think I understand," Remus hums thoughtfully. "He was definitely more lively tonight because you were around. You gave him plenty of thinking to do."

"D'you think he guessed, about us?"

"Could you not tell from the way he kept calling you my _'friend'_?" Remus asks, amused. He lowers his voice and slows his speech into a slower, more contemplative rhythm in imitation of his father. _"Remus, it's nice that you've invited your friend to dinner. How long have you and Sirius been friends?"_

"That went completely over my head," Sirius laughs, thumping Remus on the chest with the palm of his hand. "You could have said something sooner!"

"You thought he'd be a blatant homophobe," Remus guesses, "Or that he'd speak down to me because I don't keep _halakhah_ — the law — the same way he does."

"Maybe," Sirius says honestly. "I hoped he wouldn't, but, well, you said you haven't told him about your work, so I assumed..."

"It's interesting," Remus muses, staring up at the ceiling. "We used to talk about everything when Mam was alive. After she died, Da was a mess for about a year. He was angry all the time, criticized me constantly, told me I was a fool for abandoning the faith I'd been raised in. And then suddenly, he just...stopped. He started coming over for _Shabbat_ , and it was like none of that had ever happened. But he doesn't bring up touchy subjects, doesn't ask about girlfriends like he used to. It's like a switch flipped and he became a completely different person."

Sirius thinks back on his own teenage years, to his parents' reactions to finding a dirty magazine with photos of men in compromising positions tucked beneath his mattress. His mother had been outraged, had screamed at him for ten minutes about how disgusting his behaviour was. His father on the other hand had been silent, keeping his steely eyes trained on his son and waiting to speak until his wife stormed out of the room.

 _"You're entitled to whatever thoughts and fantasies you please,"_ Orion Black had told him, _"So long as you keep them to yourself, and fulfill what is expected of you when the time comes."_ Sirius had wondered which was worse: his mother's loud rages, or his father's quiet disappointment.

"Did your Mam know about you?" Sirius inquires, brushing his fingertips along the hard bumps of Remus' ribcage. He reaches up and sets his hand over the tattoo of Hope Lupin's name and wishes, not for the first time, that he could meet her.

"She was the first person I told, other than Lily," Remus answers wistfully. "More than anything, I think she was afraid for me. She didn't want my life to be difficult, or to see me lonely." He turns onto his side and draws Sirius closer so that they're lying chest to chest, nose to nose. "I don't regret coming out, though, just so you're aware. It's created challenges for me, yes, but has also made me ask questions instead of blindly believing everything simply because it's what my parents believed. I think I'm closer to God because of it."

Sirius tilts his chin up and catches Remus' mouth with his, kisses him with vigour. "Thank you for sharing _Shabbat_ with me," he says gratefully. "I feel like I know you better now."

"So you'll come again sometime?" Remus asks between soft, sleepy kisses. Sirius yawns and turns over onto his other side, settles into Remus' embrace and allows himself to be held.

"As long as your dad doesn't expect me to recite the _kiddush_ blessing from memory or something," he jokes, remembering how Lyall had mentioned something about a prayer book written entirely in Hebrew that many people read from so as not to jumble up the words.

"Certainly not," Remus assures him, but Sirius can hear the hint of a smirk in his voice. "That's definitely more of a third _Shabbat_ expectation."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Some Hebrew terms explained**
> 
> _Erev Shabbat_ \- the eve of _Shabbat;_ Friday night 
> 
> _Mezuzah_ \- a scroll on which the _Shema Yisrael_ is written, stored in a decorative case; typically found nailed on the right side of the doorframe on the front door (and other rooms) of Jewish homes 
> 
> _Klezmer_ \- style of music influenced by eastern European music, enjoyed by many Jewish folx around the world 
> 
> _Shabbat Shalom_ \- common greeting to share with others on _Shabbat_
> 
> _Kippah (p. Kippot)_ \- circular cap worn by many Jewish folx; some wear it all the time, and others only for religious services or special occasions (i.e. _Shabbat_ ) 
> 
> _Tzitzit_ \- knotted tassels that hang from the four corners of a _tallit_ (prayer shawl) or _tallit katan_ (undershirt), as directed by Jewish law 
> 
> _Kiddush_ \- a blessing spoken over wine to sanctify _Shabbat_ and other Jewish holidays 
> 
> _Challah_ \- a sweet braided bread often baked and eaten in Jewish households 
> 
> **Other notes:**
> 
> The dance scene is based on [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cO8oZ8KL3Xg) amazing video by dancer Tyler Barnett from the 2014 Florida Pole Fitness Championship. 


	2. Bibliography

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A list of sources consulted in the writing of this fic, including books, online articles and webpages, real humans that gave me opinions on Jewish representation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's important to me that I acknowledge that some of the things I write about are outside of my experience. Writing stories about characters I'm passionate about brings me joy, and depicting them accurately is something I really care about, which is why I wanted to provide sources as to where I got the information that went into the creation of this story and the iterations of the characters I've presented in it.

Beta/Sensitivity readers

[Ampithoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ampithoe/pseuds/Ampithoe) \- A friend from the CO/WS Discord that has answered so many of my questions on what it's like to be a Jewish person. Read her amazing Snowbaz Exodus fic, _[Mi Chamocha](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27349531/chapters/66825319)_! 

[Kaiu](https://teawithpotter.tumblr.com/) \- A pal from the Drarry Discord that looked over the Shabbat scene in Chapter 1

Shahar - Also from the Drarry Discord; answered some general questions on the practice of Judaism 

Books

_Living a Jewish Life_ by Anita Diamant

Online sources

[Shabbat Dinner Guide](https://onetable.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/ULTIMATE-SHABBAT-GUIDE.pdf) from OneTable.org - This was a really helpful resource in writing the Shabbat scene. OneTable is an organization that works to help Jewish young adults (age 21-39) build Shabbat into their lives. 

Videos 

_[How to Make Kiddush](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TAmPl3tYe4k) _by The Jewish Chronicle

[ _How to Light Shabbat Candles_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tqv1XiB5R3c) by Yahaduton


End file.
